


I built the universe in you

by Stormhowl (FireflyLullaby)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Violence, Werewolf Shiro, Werewolves, Witch Keith, Witches, just a bit of angst LOL kinda, keith can be warm and squishy inside, tender sheith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8295323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflyLullaby/pseuds/Stormhowl
Summary: Keith’s world revolves around lost stars, skinned knuckles, and fiery magic. There’s ash in his lungs, smoke in his throat; He’s got a supernova heart. 
This is a story about a witch and a werewolf and how they build their universes in each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _“I asked him once_   
>  _how it felt_   
>  _to lose the stars_
> 
> _and he said:_  
>  _I built the universe in you”_  
>  -[Kyra](http://moonstiel.tumblr.com)  
> 

The first time he sees the man is in a coffee shop a few blocks away from campus. Like the inevitable chill that settles in during the fall season, the on-campus coffee shop draws in the masses of sweater-clad students in need of a little warming up. Keith prefers his space with a little less body heat and a lot more breathing air. Flame witches tended to run a tad bit hotter anyway. 

Currently, Keith has found himself in a situation that he would have never dared to think he would commit. It’s not that he hates people (much); it’s just that he normally doesn’t find himself so utterly… curious. About someone. A certain someone. Thus, he’s taken up staring (and not very discretely at that). 

Keith isn’t being as sneaky as he probably should be. He admits that. But he’s not about to move tables just so he can have a better, more covert view. That would be even shadier.

So he stays in his spot by the door where he likes the chill of the breeze that drifts in every time someone enters. The smell of forest and rain reminds him of better, warmer days full of laughter and tree hunting. But as always, Keith buries the memories away. That’s a box better left unopened. 

His astrophysics textbook is raised over his face, and he’s sporadically peeking above it to make glances at his current subject of attention.

The first thing Keith notices about the man is that he’s beautiful. He’s got the kind of chiseled jaw that writers likely wax poetics about. The man sports a forelock that is as white as snow, while the shorter hair at the top of his head is a deep black in contrast. The sides of his head are clean-shaven and cropped. Although it’s possible that his hair was deliberately and artfully styled (unlike Keith’s), everything seemed to fall in place as if effortlessly. There’s something about the man that radiates warmth, and it’s not because of the thick circle scarf wrapped around his neck or the homey knit cardigan he wears. 

The second thing he notices is the right hand that is cradling a mug of steaming contents. Said arm appears to be a prosthetic made entirely of metal construction. It’s all-around curious and Keith has never seen anything like it before. It flexes and moves like any normal arm does and he reveres the current technology in bionic arms with flitting awe. He’s lost in his thoughts when – to his surprise – the man looks up and meets Keith’s eyes.

He quickly ducks down into his book red-faced. What did he expect with only a book for cover? He stays locked in his position for a few minutes, agonizing over what would be the most natural and least shady form of action to take after being caught peeping.

Eventually he thinks _fuck it_. He shuts his book and shoves it in his bag as he gets up to make way for the exit, all while ignoring the man. Keith wills himself not to check if the guy’s watching, despite the temptation. He metaphorically fist-pumps when he gets to the door successfully without straying.

So what he doesn’t notice is the man staring curiously after him as he leaves. 

\---

The second time he meets the man is a less memorable one in its start but world altering in its consequences. 

The thing about being an Ignis witch in this society is that witches almost always know what you are, and other supernatural beings – like werewolves – can sniff you out if they know what to look for. Unfortunately, fire in its essence is a bright one. While it’s only a faint submergence of the senses for other witches, Keith knows his radiates boldly at first encounter. His is the sound of crackling wild fire and the incense of burnt wood and lingering ash. 

He thinks of the loss that rests in the hollows of his body like the space between stars, the exhaust of expired love smoked through and through, the remnants of it all sitting heavy on his tongue (heavy in his throat), and he thinks that ash suits him just fine.

It’s not a vibrant thing usually. It’s a mere few seconds, a passing detail you acknowledge and move on. It’s like the scent of fresh bread wafting out of a bakery, there and gone. Luckily you only experience the full effect when you first meet another witch. After, it just kind of fades out into something you only notice when you actively try. Keith has never tested out the radius of his aura, but it seems to differ from person to person. He assumes some witches are a little more sensitive to energy compared to others. And hey, auras can have nice atmospheres at times. That is, when it comes to witches of other elements. Keith’s… well, you can kind of feel heat emitting from him, which isn’t always well received. Most auras you might hear sound or catch a scent; there are even some that you can taste. He doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone whose energy packs quite the punch like Keith’s does.

Flame is unique. Fire is a vibrant thing. While his aura is bold, demanding for unwelcome attention, Keith is less reconciling of his affinity. He likes to lay low, keep his head down, and stay out of trouble when he can. But being a flame witch is a contradiction to his desires in itself. 

Aer witches are commonly known to be free-spirited and are notorious for their friendly nature. Aqua witches are revered for their healing abilities, while Terra witches are praised for the magnanimous protection their manipulation of earth can provide. But Ignis – flame witches – are a lot less common and their history has a tendency towards destruction and chaos. Not the kind of role models you’d hope for when your young, starry-eyed self was looking for heroes of your own kind.

These are just stereotypes. Keith knows that. So he can be a little stand offish, sometimes aggressive, and maybe he doesn’t have a very mild temperament. But he’s not planning to leave a legacy of death and destruction in his wake, despite what the media might portray. He values justice just as any other person does and he has an inner compass of moral right. But people seem to forget that Ignis witches are more than just their element. Keith wishes that people would just leave him the fuck alone. He doesn’t need the type of attraction that being an Ignis witch warrants. 

That type of attraction being prejudice that manifests in the form of petty fights and bullying. Keith wishes he didn’t give a fuck about the treatment he receives. He’s had a long time to get used to it. He doesn’t want to think it bothers him, but it does. And he hates that it can get under his skin. 

He’s late for his afternoon astrophysics course, which is kind of a death sentence for someone like Keith in cases like these. The professor doesn’t post his presentation slides online and their textbook is the bare-minimal of help. Keith has to come to class because he doesn’t exactly have a whole lot of, if any, friends to ask for their notes.

He takes a shortcut that skirts the outer more secluded areas of the campus and unknowingly commits a mistake. To be fair, he doesn’t really expect any reasonable college student to pick a fight with him. (College is tiring. Most people are too dead tired to pull shit.) 

Keith skirts the corner and keeps to a wall that’s just his height. He’s only a few steps in when he’s halted by a sudden, cold sensation pouring over his head and running down the back of his neck. Belatedly he realizes – by scent – that the offending liquid is soda. An empty plastic cup skitters near his feet from the right and the sound of snickering draws his attention upwards. 

Three men stand a little ways above on a short precipice of concrete. Two of them snicker while the third watches in clear amusement by the smirk on his face. The one closest to the edge, whom he presumes threw the cup, pushes his hood off to reveal cropped blonde hair and a wide grin. 

Keith glowers angrily and a step forward brings him crushing the plastic underneath his boots. He breathes in deep to regain his composure as anger simmers like a lit match.

He’s tired. This type of treatment isn’t new, but he thought he left all that pettiness behind in high school. It’s not worth it. Leave children to their cruel games, he doesn’t want any part in it. You’re better than this, he thinks, and takes a deep breath as he spins around to leave, cup crackling again beneath his feet. 

“Sorry,” one of them calls from behind his back. There’s a pause, more quiet snickering, and Keith shuts his eyes. The guy laughs. “It was an honest mistake.” 

They’re provoking you. Don’t do it, Keith. 

The next comment is more flippant, but still clearly discernable in the mockery lacing his words. “It’s not like it was misplaced. We were throwing garbage in the trash where it belongs... or in this case, on it.” 

Keith always did speak better with his fists. 

He spins around, grabs the closest guy standing on the edge and yanks as hard as he can. It takes the guy by surprise and he slides off the edge yelping, back hitting the ground with a loud thud. Keith is sure the guy will have a nasty bruise as a reminder.

He jumps back to create distance, a biting smiling directed towards the other two. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to play with fire?”

Fury flashes across the face of the other blonde that had been standing next to the guy he’d just taken down. He jumps down with a low growl, although the brunette man remains leaning on the wall, watching. 

Shit. If the growl is any indication, he’s sure this guy’s a werewolf. And it wouldn’t be a far guess to assume the other two were as well. Werewolves tended to hang around their own kind. 

Keith doesn’t let this news show on his face. If there’s one thing he’s learned, you never let your opponent read anything, not on your face and definitely not in your body. He’s definitely outnumbered. While he might be able to take on three men, taking on three werewolves is a different story.

Werewolves excel in superior strength and quicker than average speed. However, Keith’s nothing but fast, and he knows how to fight like he knows how to breathe. He’s had years to learn. If it were not for the fingerless gloves protecting his skin, the resulting scars would have spoken for themselves. Still, his knuckles are not free of scars. They’re a marker of his past and his – usually foolish – courage. 

In fights like these, Keith knows you need to move with precision, mobility, and power. It’s tough to fight one on three, even for established fighters, but he knows the streets well. He acknowledges that running would be the better option. Keith, however, was never one to back down even in the face of likely defeat. 

While the man on the ground attempts to regain his bearings, the other blonde werewolf comes at him with a swing on Keith’s left. Keith dodges and throws a right hook straight into the man’s face. While his opponent stumbles from the hit, he makes a quick pivot to bring his heel down onto the side of the man’s face and he subsequently falls hard. One down, two to go. 

As Keith is completing his kick, he almost misses the next hit that comes. Even though he jerks back swiftly, it still stings the side of his face. A warm trickle runs down his right cheek. The brunette leaning against the wall had decided to step in and surprise him.

He sees a hint of nails receding at the newcomer’s fingers. The man’s grin lifts lopsidedly in a smirk, and Keith guesses the guy assumed he was skilled enough to dodge. It’s a foolish presumption because those claws very well could have done irreversible damage. He narrows his eyes. 

The brown-haired man launches a punch at his right cheek that startles Keith in its speed. He raises both of his arms to block and realizes too late that it’s a feint. The left punch connects to his temple and he stumbles, wincing and trying to regain his balance. Losing your balance in a group fight can be fatal, and Keith isn’t about to give them that opening even if his left eye is pulsating.

Keep them all in your vision, don’t lose sight of your surroundings. He notices the guy he had pulled earlier run towards his rear while the brunette rushes forward. Keith times it so that he sidesteps when they’re just close enough, grabbing the man and then using his forward motion to propel him into the other werewolf. The two collide and land sprawled on the ground. 

Keith takes a breather, wipes the blood off his cheek. He raises his fist in a defensive position as the brunette rights himself. Instead of a punch, the werewolf lunges at him and Keith loses his footing. He feels his breath leave his chest as his back hits the ground and the skin of his elbows rub raw on the concrete. Fighting through the disorientation from knocking his head, Keith throws his arms up to defend and initially fails when a punch nicks his jaw. The werewolf goes for two more punches, but when he’s pulling back for the third, Keith lunges up to close the space and wraps his arm around the man’s body. He twists his right leg so that it traps his straggler’s leg and maneuvers his right arm over the guy’s shoulder at the same time. With his left foot, he explodes forward while twisting his hip. The move effectively rotates their positions so that Keith is now on top, much to the brunette’s surprise. He counters quickly. Three good hits and the man knocks out.

Keith’s breathing hard in exhaustion; he moves to slide off the man. There’s a shuffling sound and Keith knows that he’s dropped his guard too soon. He turns around to find the other werewolf running towards him with a ready fist. In a flimsy attempt to respond, Keith falls back on his haunches and raises his arms.

But the blow never connects. He catches a glint of sunlight reflecting off of a metal hand and then there’s someone stepping in front of him. The other werewolf is startled enough that he hesitates. He steps back in confusion from the abrupt arrival.

Keith swears his heart almost stops. His eyes widen when he realize it’s _the guy_ , the beautiful guy from the coffee shop. Broad shoulders, short cropped hair, white forelock, and a metal arm. Keith sits stunned by this new event. 

“Who the fuck are you?” the werewolf sneers, fidgeting uncomfortably at the prospect of an additional challenge. 

“Shiro,” the man answers, and distractedly Keith thinks he’s got a soothing kind of voice, although right now it’s full of authority. 

The other man laughs. “What? I don’t care who you are-”

“Of the Shirogane Pack,” Shiro cuts in. He stands tall and unwavering, while the other man blinks in further confusion.

There’s a shuffling sound and Keith sees the other blonde werewolf, now awake, run towards his companion. 

“Shirogane, that pack, you dumbass. We gotta go, c’mon.” He grabs his friend by the shoulder and turns to Shiro. There’s fear in his voice as it wavers. “We’ll leave. Just let us grab our friend.”

Shiro nods and the two scramble immediately, lifting their unconscious friend between them and shuffling away.

There’s a beat of silence and stillness before the larger man turns around with a gentle smile that throws Keith off-kilter. He extends the non-metal hand out as if to help him up. Keith stares at it before ignoring the proffered hand and gets up on his own. Shiro doesn’t seem offended but rather moves to gather Keith’s misplaced bag and contents. It had gotten thrown to the side at the beginning of the scuffle and his books lay scattered on the ground. 

After Keith is finished checking his injuries, Shiro appears. He holds out Keith’s bag having made quick work, books already stashed away. 

“Thanks,” Keith mumbles. His brows are creased when he takes the bag. He’s not sure why Shiro got involved and it leaves an uncomfortable, acidic taste at the back of his throat. Or maybe that’s the coppery aftertaste of his blood that had somehow transferred from his cheek to his lips during the squabble.

“No problem.” Keith is graced with another smile. “Now, we should get those cuts cleaned.”

He almost gets whiplash from how fast his head whips up. “What? No, I- Thanks, but that’s not necessary, I have class and I’m actually late so I should go.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow while appraising the shorter man’s form. Keith looks down and realizes that his drenched, messy state isn’t exactly class appropriate.

“Look,” Shiro starts, “your class is introduction to astrophysics, correct?” Keith is taken aback but before he can respond the man continues. “First of all, you’re not going to class like that. Well you could if you really wanted to, but that leads me to my second point. Class ended early. I know because I’m in it. And third,” he raises a finger, “I have the handouts and notes. You can copy them.” He smiles, shrugging as if to indicate that it’s a win-win situation. Keith doesn’t know what Shiro has to gain from this and he hesitates at the thought.

He doesn’t have any legitimate reasons to refuse though, and he really does need those notes now that he’s learned there isn’t a class for him to rush to. Contrary to what some people might think of his unruly behavior, he actually does care about his grades. 

“Alright,” Keith replies. He figures he has nothing to lose. “Lead the way.” 

\---

Keith is mildly impressed at how close Shiro’s off-campus housing is. It’s closer than Keith’s on-campus housing, for goodness sake.

They come to a stop at a seemingly small, modern looking home. It’s built akin to a craftsman style with wood paneling painted a soft shade of blue and a dark, low-pitched roof.

Shiro shakes out his keys once he has grabbed hold of the one he wants and then inserts it into the lock. The door opens to a spacious living room that would be a gem for college students living in the more common, smaller apartments. Shiro stands on the wooden flooring of the entryway and slips his shoes off before stepping onto the carpet. 

“C’mon in. It seems like my roommates aren’t back yet.”

Keith copies Shiro and nudges his boots closer to the other man’s and out of the way. He takes a moment to consider his surroundings. There’s a window to his left that faces the street and another on the side of the house. The window blinds are open so that plenty of light filters in. Across from the front window and near the doorway is a dining table with six chairs. Further to the left of the front window and closer to the corner of the room is a medium-sized flat screen TV sitting on a stand. In front of the television set, and what looks to be gaming consoles, is a cozy L-shaped couch that sits flush along the wall underneath the window. To Keith’s right, he can see what looks like an open kitchen bar that connects the living room to the kitchen. Shiro throws his backpack on one of the dining room chairs before making his way to the right and further into the house. Unsure of what to do, he watches as Shiro passes the kitchen to enter what appears to be the downstairs bathroom. Keith shuts the door behind him and turns the lock for good measure.

“You can sit at the dining room table. I need to grab a couple of things,” he calls over the sound of a cabinet squeaking open.

Keith stares at the table for a beat before moving. He takes a seat on the chair closest to the exit out without much thought, his back to the living room. He drops his backpack at his feet.

Shiro returns shortly after making a quick trip upstairs, toting a plastic white container that he places on the table. There’s also a towel and clothing tucked under his arm. Keith feels his stomach drop for just a second because can see where this is going.

True to his suspicions, Shiro offers him a shower. “You shirt looks damp with what I can smell is Coca Cola, which I bet is going to get uncomfortably sticky, and you’re covered in dirt. I know it’s a little weird, but you can use our shower in that bathroom.” He points to the room closest to them. “It’ll be a little big, but you can borrow my shirt and sweats.”

Keith scratches at his cheek in hesitation and wonders how he got to this point in time. Is Shiro so friendly that he’d let a stranger shower in his house? Wear his clothing? He even offered to let a guy he’d just met copy his notes. As more questions form, Keith is boggled by the absurdity of the unfolding situation. Now that Shiro had pointed out his state, Keith really could feel the uncomfortable stickiness of the soda that clung to his skin just like his damp shirt. He also felt like there was sand in his pants. He sighed as reasoning beat his discomfort of showering in a stranger’s house.

Shiro showed him to the medium-sized bathroom and placed the clothes and towel next to the sink. He slid open the glass door to show Keith how to use the shower and left thereafter. Keith locked the door and unpeeled his clothes, folding it neatly on the counter besides the clean set. After fiddling with the shower knobs, Keith took the fastest shower that he thinks he’s ever taken.

As Shiro had mentioned, the clothes were loose on him. While Keith had lean muscles hidden under his clothes, Shiro’s were more prominent and obvious through his skin-tight apparel. Thankfully the drawstrings to the sweats were tight enough that they wouldn’t risk sliding off. They were a bit longer, too, but they cuffed at the ankle so that the bottom wouldn’t be dragging as he walked. 

He toweled his black hair as he left the bathroom, the strands of his mullet dripping water drops down his neck. Shiro was at the dining table typing away. There was paper, a notebook, and writing utensils out. He looked up and smiled cheerfully as Keith neared.

“Doesn’t that feel better? You can throw the towel on the other chair, I’ll deal with it later.” Shiro stood up from his seat. “Go ahead and sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

Keith did as he was told, watching Shiro as he rounded the table to stop in front of Keith. He dragged the first aid kit closer and took out a packet. 

“Can I put some antibiotic cream on your cut?”

When Shiro had brought up cleaning his cuts before, Keith didn’t think Shiro would be personally treating it himself. He could have easily cleaned up in the bathroom himself. Keith pauses before finally nodding. For some reason, he can’t find it in him to refuse.

Keith’s breath falls shallow when Shiro draws closer to gently dab at his cut. There’s a queasy feeling at the pit of his stomach, almost like butterflies fluttering around in there, as he gazes at Shiro’s focused expression. His eyes trace an old scar that cuts across his nose. Something in his chest twists for a second when he ponders its origins. Shiro’s eyes drop to meet his and Keith swallows audibly – to his embarrassment – when he realizes how close they are. A breath brushes his cheeks and Keith tears his gaze away, opting to stare past the man instead. He tries to ignore the fact that Shiro is likely the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

“There.” Shiro breaks the silence with one last dab of his finger. “Can I take a look at your elbows?”

Keith complies, raising one arm at a time. Shiro has to duck a bit but makes quick work, finishing off with a band-aid to each of Keith’s elbows. He questions if he’s got any other cuts, to which the smaller boy shakes his head in a negative.

Shiro cleans up and returns the container to the bathroom. On his way back, he grabs an ice pack from the fridge.

“The area near your eye is a bit red. I think it might bruise.” When Shiro hands the ice pack to him, he admits he knocked his head.

Shiro frowns, his eyebrows creasing. “That doesn’t sound good. Do you feel like you’ve got a concussion?” Keith appraises how he feels and shakes his head. “Just to be safe, you should ice your head after too.”

Shiro returns to his seat and slides the notebook and blank paper towards him. “Here’s the lecture notes. You can take a look at the handout too.”

They both get to work and there’s only the sound of Keith’s pen scribbling and Shiro typing. They’re silent for a few minutes before Shiro speaks up.

“You gave those werewolves a run for their money.”

Keith scoffed under his breath. “Is that what it looked like?” 

“I’m serious,” Shiro replied. “Where did you learn to fight? You’re pretty good.”

I’ve been fighting all my life, he thinks. But he doesn’t voice that out loud and instead simply shrugs.

Shiro is quiet for a second before continuing gently. “But if you’re trained, you would know that fighting multiple people, even three, can be incredibly dangerous and-”

“Stupid,” Keith interjects. “I know. I know running is your best option. But I threw the first punch. It’s my fault.” His pen presses harder into the paper. 

Shiro’s typing seizes. “I doubt that they’re entirely innocent. I’m assuming you didn’t exactly dump that soda on yourself. And-” he stops.

Keith glances up from writing. “What?”

Shiro looks slightly abashed. He rubs at the back of his neck. “I… actually didn’t catch your name. Forgot to ask with all that commotion.” He waves his hand around.

“Oh,” Keith says. “It’s uh, Keith. Keith Kogane.” He doubts it matters anyway. It’s not like he’ll ever see Shiro again. Maybe in passing during class, but the lecture hall of the class they shared held maybe more than a hundred or so students. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, as if testing the name out. “It’s nice to meet you.” Shiro smiles. 

Keith coughs and definitely does not think about how Shiro’s smile is cute. “Likewise.”

They go quiet again but Shiro engages him in conversation every few minutes. They talk about their majors and are surprised to find that they have the same major – aerospace engineering – with slight differences in interests. They’re both also surprised to find out that they even share two courses together. The two marvel at the fact that neither of them had seen each other even though they’re two weeks into the quarter. 

Keith is more baffled than he thinks Shiro is, because while he can understand Shiro not noticing someone as plain as himself, he was sure he would have at least seen Shiro. But the second course they share is a bigger one at almost two hundred students, so he’s not that surprised.

There’s another silence in which Keith gets lost in his thoughts. He finds it weird that he can carry such ordinary conversation with someone he has just recently met. He worries a little bit, wondering if his unintended clipped answers are coming off as dismissive. Keith hasn’t really had much luck making friends and his past was tumultuous enough to ensure that. He’d been busy doing other things, like defending himself, being moved from home to home, and throwing himself into studying. Before he knew it, high school was over and he’d been admitted into college without really forming any long-lasting friendships. It strikes a chord in Keith briefly, but he reminds himself that he’s much better off on his own. He has his familiar as company, a panther with dark black fur that matches Keith’s hair color. They even have the same purple, grayish-blue eye color, which had secretly delighted Keith as a kid. Red’s company was enough. He reminded himself of that.

There’s a scuffling sound outside the door that makes Keith tense. Shiro glances up. “Relax.” He checks his computer again before turning to look at the door. “It sounds like Allura. She’s one of my roommates.” Keith remembers that the other werewolves he’d fought earlier had mentioned that Shiro was from the Shirogane pack. The realization hits him. Pack. Shiro was a werewolf. That’s why he could also hear who was behind the door.

His epiphany is interrupted by the front door swinging open. A tall, dark-skinned girl with flowing white hair stepped into the entryway. She noticed Keith immediately and stopped. 

“Oh,” she started, “You have company.” She directed this at Shiro, raising an eye when she saw Keith’s state of dress. “And he’s wearing your clothes. Do you have something you’d like to tell me?” She threw a playful smile at Shiro, glancing back and forth between the two men. Keith felt his cheeks grow a little hot at the implication.

Shiro smiled apologetically at Keith. “He’s a friend,” Shiro said turning to Allura, “and I lent him my clothes because there was a bit of an accident. Someone knocked coke on him.” Keith turned to regard Shiro with surprise at the white lie. He wasn’t sure why Shiro would lie for him, but it still felt… Keith felt something akin to both relief and gratitude. He’s never been ashamed of his tendency to get into fights, but it’s not exactly the first impression he’d like to make.

“Ah,” she said, expression only dimming slightly, still seemingly excited at the prospect of Shiro bringing a friend over. She pulled her knee-high boots off, threw them besides the wall, and extended her hand towards Keith. “Nice to meet you, Shiro’s friend. I’m Allura.”

Keith took her hand. “Keith,” he replied. 

Under each of Allura’s sapphire blue eye is a small pink mark that catches Keith’s attention. He blinks, sees her pointy ears unobscured by the small braids that draw back some of her hair, and quickly redirects his gaze back to her eyes.

Allura, however, notices the direction of his fleeting looks. She touches one of her marks with a hand. “I’m a shifter, if you’re wondering. You’ve probably never met one before. We’ve got these marks under our eyes.” 

“A… shifter? Like in the fairy tales?” Keith isn’t sure if the shifter he knows from those child book stories are the kind that Allura supposedly is. He had imagined a huge, hulking creature that could shift from beast to beast. At least that’s how the stories had depicted them.

“Depends on which one you’re reading,” she replies, moving to rifle through a stack of envelopes on the kitchen bar. “Most of them exaggerate and forget that we’re just as human as werewolves are. In fact, I’d say we’re the true original werewolves. I can pretty much shift into any animal that I have a basic understanding of. We’ve got the same superior strength, but while werewolves only have claws–” she flipped her finger to show Keith her extending nail morphing into a claw he usually saw on beta forms of werewolves “–we can take on any creature’s particular trait that results in quite a variety of beta forms.” Her one claw slid through the envelope cleanly before retracting. 

“Basically,” Shiro said amicably, “Shifters are cooler than werewolves.” Allura chuckled in agreement. 

Keith is absorbing this new information when there’s an audible thump from upstairs followed by a yelp. Keith watches Shiro and Allura trade glances. 

“Pidge,” they both say at the same time. He hears Shiro mumble that he hadn’t realized she was home the entire time.

A hurried stomping resounds as whoever it is makes their way down and then a small kid emerges from around the corner. Her hair was a mess, sticking up in different directions like she’d just woken up, and her glasses were a skewed. As she nears, Keith realizes that she isn’t a kid as he once thought, but he stands by the point that she’s probably younger than all of them. Keith is watching her curiously as she nears until the next words make him freeze.

“Is there a fire?” She asks, rubbing at her eyes. As she says that, Keith is hit with the subtle scent of a forest after rain and the echoes of shaking trees and skittering leaves. A Terra witch. Who also now knows what kind of witch Keith is.

There’s a quiet fear that lodges in his throat at her words. It then drops like a weight in his stomach when Shiro and Allura turn to stare at Keith curiously, realization dawning on them.

“So that’s why you’ve got a woodsy, campfire smell going on.” Allura goes to tuck a lock behind her hair but remembers it’s already braided back. “I totally thought it was your cologne.”

“It’s a nice scent,” Shiro ponders aloud. The attention is shifted onto Shiro as three heads swivel in his direction; he suddenly realizes that his thoughts weren’t so private and stammers. “I mean, it’s a- it’s a warm scent, coming from a general… opinion.” He clears his throat. “Sorry Keith, I hope I didn’t offend you somehow.”

Keith blinks a few times in confusion. He’d been expecting some sort of backlash, something angrier, maybe a couple of betrayed remarks. What he wasn’t expecting was for the trio to somehow just take the reveal all in stride, seeming completely unfazed by the new information. Pidge, who was slowing coming back online, is now focused on Keith with something akin to… excitement?

Pidge bolts towards Keith, nearly knocking into the chair that threatens to tip over before Shiro catches it. Keith startles and leans back as Pidge lays half her body on the table, eyes gleaming as she pushes her glasses up. 

“Do you have a familiar?”

The black haired boy, slightly flabbergasted, slowly nods his head. 

“What species is it? Does she correlate with your element? Can she spit fire? Please tell me you have a dragon familiar, I need to meet one, for science. Does she only take one shape–”

“Pidge,” Shiro interrupts with exasperation. “Stop interrogating him. You’ve just met the guy.” Allura moves to right Pidge up, pulling her shoulder back.

Pidge smiles a tad bit guilty at Allura’s chastising expression. “Right, sorry. I’m Pidge, nice to meet you and all that jazz. What’s your name?”

“Uh- Keith.” 

“Alright, Uh Keith. Now that we’ve officially met… What’s your familiar’s species?” At the question, Allura berates the Terra witch with an exclaimed “Pidge!” 

Keith is thrown by all the questions. “She’s… a panther?”

“Are you asking me?”

Keith narrows his eyes. “A panther.”

Pidge pulls out a small notebook, seemingly out of thin air, and starts writing.

“Any relation to your element of fire?”

“Not that I know of…”

“Does your familiar only take on this particular species’ form?” Pidge continues to take notes.

“When I was young, she could also turn into a black smoke Maine Coone cat,” he says. 

“So feline oriented,” Pidge mumbled. “Was there a particular reason as to why she stopped changing into the alternate feline form?”

Keith sucks in a breath and falls quiet. Because that, that question threatens to bring back a resurfacing of memories, of guilt and shame and blame that has been gnawing at him for almost a decade. He knows why Red stopped changing, knows that deep down, even if she would never think it, Keith is the one to blame. 

“Keith.” Shiro’s gentle voice brings him back when he takes too long to reply. “You don’t have to answer.” 

Keith stares at the table in shame. It’s a simple question. There’s no reason for him to get worked up. For the millionth time, he’s fucked up a simple social interaction. He schools his features, reins in his emotions. The anger that flickers within him is directed at himself for making the same mistakes over, and over again. 

When Keith speaks, it’s indifferent. Distant. Like it isn’t him speaking, but an autopilot. “She stopped shifting when she protected me.” He can see Shiro and Allura’s concerned expressions. He pushes on, anger extinguished as quickly as it had flared. Now, he just feels empty. 

“Red used her size to cover me, which saved my life.” It didn’t save his parent’s. “After that, she never changed forms again.”

There’s a silence. Pidge doesn’t even continue writing. She just looks crestfallen. He sees Shiro’s hand twitch towards him.

“Keith. Hey, Keith.” Shiro reaches over to place a hand on Keith’s shoulder that has him flinching imperceptibly. Shiro doesn’t miss it, but he doesn’t remove his hand either. Instead, he gently rubs the spot and Keith swallows hard. When he raises his eyes, he realizes that Allura and Pidge are nowhere in sight.

“Don’t do that,” Shiro continues, voice soft. “It sounds like you’re blaming yourself. But from what I know about familiars, and probably yours too, is that they love you first and foremost. That’s something worth protecting, no matter the cause. Without you, she can’t exist. Red? Red is a piece of your soul. So if you blame yourself, that means you blame her.” 

Keith replies sharply. “I wouldn’t-”

“I know. And I’m sure she knows that too,” he says. His hand still rests on Keith’s shoulder, firm and grounding.

Keith hadn’t really thought about it like that before. Intrinsically, he knows that she’s a part of his soul, knows that she can’t exist unless Keith gives her a piece of himself and his magic. In turn, familiars can amplify a witch’s magical strength. But Keith hasn’t really ever thought of her as just some tool. No, Red’s the only family he’s got. She’s probably been sad knowing that Keith has blamed himself the entire time, unable to voice her sentiments. 

He takes a deep breath. “Thanks, Shiro,” he says softly.

Shiro simply smiles. “Anytime.”

\---

When he gets home to his single apartment, Red is there to greet him. She rubs her large, lithe body against his legs as if to comfort him, aware of the mixture of emotions he’s probably emitting. He drags his fingers through her fur and it settles something inside him.

He has class later in the afternoon but for once he decides to skip. The presentation slides are posted online, the professor only regurgitates information from the book, and he’s confident that missing one lecture won’t do much harm. Plus, if he’s being honest, he feels mentally drained and exhausted. Keith doesn’t remember the last time he’s had to emote so much. Even his throat feels dry from talking more than he has… for a long time. He takes a moment to glance around his apartment, at the bare necessities for furniture surrounded by a silence that has never felt more oppressive. He shakes it off.

That night, when he climbs into bed, Red joins him as per usual. But instead of sleeping at her preferred spot curled around the corner and facing the door, she plops down and pushes her back against Keith’s chest, large feline head rubbing at the sheet. Keith closes his eyes and rests his chin on her head, which stills her movement.

In the quiet of the night, moonlight a steady beam falling in the room across his hands, he whispers to Red about his strange day. He tells her about the beautiful stranger that he never dreamed he’d see again after that day in the coffee shop. He tells her about how kind he is, and how it makes Keith nervous. He tells her about how shocked he was that they responded to him with respect even when they discovered he was an Ignis witch. What he doesn’t voice, but Keith knows she can sense, is that there’s a tentative bud of hope pushing past the dirt of a desolate universe that fills the spaces within his body. For the first time, Keith lets it to grow. He lets himself hope.

And he dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> \- There's bullying that occurs early on.  
> Author Notes:  
> \- Pidge is referred to as "she" in this chapter. To be clear, she will be referenced in a variety of pronouns in the future. My personal hc is that she's genderfluid and I portray it in a way similar to mine. (As I have no specific preference of pronoun.)  
> \- You know how Shiro's off-campus housing is closer than Keith's on-campus apartment? Yeah. My off-campus house was closer than my on-campus apartment LOL.  
> \- I met some of my closest friends the same way Keith meets Shiro and the rest (being immediately invited over by super friendly and chill people, not the fighting haha).
> 
> It's been many years since I've last written due to mental health issues. I expect there may be errors. Please be kind on my weenie soul LOL.  
> Anyways, thank you for reading!!! Kudos and/or comments are much appreciated (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*  
> 


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